


That Deadly Languor, That Unwilling Nepenthe

by Mx_Dragon



Category: Persona 4
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bad Ending, Blow Jobs, M/M, Oral Sex, Psychic Bond, Rape By Proxy?, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-13
Updated: 2020-05-13
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:40:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24154459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mx_Dragon/pseuds/Mx_Dragon
Summary: What happens if you don't rescue Kanji in time.
Relationships: Shadow Tatsumi Kanji/Tough Guy/Nice Guy, Tatsumi Kanji/Shadow Tatsumi Kanji
Comments: 1
Kudos: 14





	That Deadly Languor, That Unwilling Nepenthe

The steam of the bathhouse where Kanji wakes is thick and listless in his lungs. He tries to gasp—why does he feel so weak?—but what clings to his insides is not air. Cannot be exhaled. Sick, dark dizziness floods in and he claws at the wooden bench to stop himself from sinking.

Then he realizes he _has_ sunk. The pine-plank seats smoothed by body after hot, muscled body have bowed to admit him, to hold his limbs, and he could not escape even if he were himself.

And he can't be himself, because himself is sitting barely an arm's length away, intently watching whoever he is. But maybe that's not himself, actually, because Kanji has never felt his face do that. The hooded eyes, the lecherous feline smirk, the intoxicated blush—everything about this other Kanji is  _pleasure_ ,  simultaneously  sated  and insatiable. Its gold-glowing eyes shift to meet his and its mouth curls up. When it saunters to the center of the room, hips swi shing , he realizes with a mix of bewildered fury and secondhand embarrassment that his doppelganger is wearing nothing but a fundoshi. His own clothes are already sodden with sweat.

“So Sleeping Beauty wakes at last.” Palms upraised, the Other gives a melodramatic sigh. “I've been waiting all this time...but you're worth it, sweetie.” A giggle that itches at the back of Kanji's brain. “And I know I'm worth it.”

Kanji wants to snarl  _who the fuck are you_ in a voice to drive away this fog of heat and cold fear, this mirror who is not a mirror. A low, garbled growl is all that emerges.

The Other crosses its arms over its bare chest, its lips pursed in an exaggerated pout. “Don't be ungrateful. You need to be brought up to speed, honey, and I'm nice enough to take on the job.” It snaps its fingers and coos, “Oh, boys...”

Out of seemingly nowhere—a door hidden in the steam?—appear two musclebound men, half ink-black and half paper-white, who each tower over the Other by almost a meter. (Also wearing virtually nothing, Kanji can't help noticing.  _What is it with this place?_ ) Though he can barely move anything but his head,  combat  instinct tenses him and he bares his teeth at the Other's thugs.  _If this asshole thinks I'm going down without a fight..._

But the men make no move towards him. The Other favors them with a look that is nothing short of predatory; they respond with identical wolfish grins. Then it continues, “Trust me, this will help your whole world make sense. And I know you'll love it.” Its voice suddenly loses all silkiness, sharpening in a way that spikes ice through Kanji's guts. “After all, you're me. So you really don't have a choice.”

Then one of the men grabs the Other by the shoulders—its body,  _his_ body, looks almost fragile in that ogre's hands— for a long, hungry kiss.

Kanji yells and struggles in vain to press his trapped hands over his mouth. The phantom sensation of saliva-slick lips and probing tongue, as real as if the monster had kissed him instead,  lurches bile  in to the back of his throat.

When they break apart, the Other's face is already feral with desire. “Suck me off, lover,” it moans. The man immediately kneels to scoop up the Other in his massive hands and raise it to his mouth. The fundoshi slithers to the floor.

_Don't let this time work the same_ , Kanji prays.  _No, please, I can't..._

The man's head dips between the Other's legs and Kanji bites his lip until he tastes blood. But each suckle and slurp jolts white heat up his spine; there's no point in gritting his teeth against the delirious sensation, because the Other is crooning praise in a low, urgent voice and he's already hopelessly hard.

Too late—and what could he do, anyway?—he hears the Other mutter: “Now take it all.”

Wet heat engulfs him from tip to base. Kanji's head thuds back against the wall. Before he can stop himself, his hips buck into an imaginary throat whose tightness and slickness and squeezing, rippling swallows wrench pleasure from his bones.

Two cries split the air when the second man, his patience evaporated, kneels behind the Other to force his tongue inside it. Kanji's stomach drops when the Other eagerly bends forward as far as it can, clutching at the first man's shoulders. Offering itself.

_There's no way either of us can take that monster._

When thick phantom fingers start to probe his entrance, Kanji tenses against them. But the Other pushes back with a yelp of delight, and they slide in easily to rub over a rough spot that leaves Kanji keening as loudly as his counterpart. Humiliation stings his eyes and he tells himself that the wetness on his cheeks is sweat.

The fingers soon withdraw. Before Kanji can squash his shame and sneaking disappointment, they are replaced by something much larger. He clamps his lips to stifle any more treacherous cries. But the hot steely flesh just keeps opening him wider, stuffing him fuller, and he can't breathe for the stretch and the burn and the awful, ravening satisfaction. When he gives in and gasps for air, every exhale is edged with a moan.

“Oh, my sweet darlings,” pants the Other, “feels so good...don't you stop...” Its tongue curls obscenely between its flushed, swollen lips. Kanji squeezes his eyes shut, but he can't block out the sick squish of skin on skin or the Other's guttural litany of  _more, more, more—_

the flickering tongue on his balls and relentless wet suction on his shaft

the veined girth whose every thrust hits something  _oh god oh fuck_ deep inside

—or the wordless whimpers that leak out of him like the precum dribbling down his aching cock. Raw pleasure pulses under his skin and pools in his belly, carving him out until there is nothing left to ruin. A voice wails out in ecstasy that surges higher with every moment and he doesn't know or care whose animal cry it is, as long as this feeling never stops.

With an overwhelmed, blissful sob, Kanji sees white, jerking his hips against nothing as thick hot wetness soaks the crotch of his pants.

The silence is broken only by harsh panting. Then the wooden floor creaks with the soft pad of bare feet. The two men are gone as suddenly as they appeared, but his weakness has eaten him and he shudders at its breath on his cheek. The Other runs its fingers under his beltline, through the sticky mess on his belly, just to loudly suck them clean with a purr of satisfaction. He can't bring himself to look away. When it pins him with incubus eyes and presses his own filth to his lips, he laps it up without a fight.

“Am I in Hell?” Kanji finally manages to ask.

Even with those hoarse words, he hears the Other's vacuous, voracious grin in his own voice. But the blank heat of lust that just engulfed him—that is already, impossibly, crawling up his body again—leaves no room to truly hate himself. All he wants now is more.

_Mmm, give me more..._

That is how he knows he is doomed, long before the Other seizes his mouth in a sloppy, salt-bitter kiss and pumps its laughter inside him.

* * *

In that dream of his, t he room is bathed in embryonic light, and he is bathed in the awed, lustful touches of a thousand men. Orgasms build slow but almost constant, a steady  warm pulse of ecstasy that washes through his flesh, subsides to the  lassitude of satisfied fatigue, only to wash through again. Every exhale is a sweet whimper, overwhelmed yet still greedy:  _Yes, oh yes. Pleasure me. Cherish me. Never stop making love to me..._

Now is the part where he always woke up, desire aching in his skin like grief. But this is not a dream anymore, and its pleasures bleed on and on.


End file.
